Happy Birthday Lena!

Lena is three years old today.  Three!

What?  When?  Where have three years gone? 

I don't know if it's because I'm an older parent of toddlers or if it's just a parent thing in general, but the days seem to tick by faster with each one that passes.  Even through the blur of passing time, though, I can vividly remember my days at the hospital when Lena was born (and for those of you who are familiar with my ever failing memory, that is a feat). 

How sweet Lena's tiny little sigh sounded when she came out, until we found out she was sighing because she couldn't breathe.  Her oxygen levels were low and they took her away from me to try to help her.  They finally brought her to me after a few hours, wanting to try one last thing before taking her to the NICU - letting me nurse her.  At that point I still wasn't allowed to sit up after my c-section, so they propped her tiny little body up beside mine.  She sat there like a little beanbag rag doll sighing her tiny sigh and struggling.  Then she latched on for dear life, nursed like a 6 month old baby and immediately stopped sighing.  All she needed was her momma...why don't they always try that first, I wonder? 

So with all those precious memories swirling around in my mind today, I'm posting the photos from today and from her tiny themed 3rd birthday party, which we had on Saturday.   She's still a tiny little thing - hasn't changed much physically since her 2nd birthday party photos, really.  But in a year's time she's grown so much mentally.  She's become a talkative, singing, temper tantrum throwing, opinionated, sweet 3 year old girl who is generous with her kisses and melts my heart when she asks me to hold her or kiss her boo boo.

Happy birthday, my sweet baby girl!

From this morning, when Sam and I sang her happy birthday.

 

We had lunch with Rich downtown.  She insisted on wearing her new ballerina dress and ballet slippers...it's her birthday, so I let her.

 

I mean, could they be any sweeter?

 

I made all the decorations and food for her tiny party.  It was a lot of work, but turned out great!

Tiny tissue pompoms over the table with tiny flower vases and a tiny kitty cat tablecloth (the girl loves cats.  What's a mom to do?).

 



We served tiny cupcakes, mini oreos, mini M&M's, mini townhouse crackers, mini mints, baby carrots, tiny caramel apples, little smokies wrapped in crescent rolls, tiny grilled cheese sandwiches, tiny dixie cups filled with lemonade.

 

The favors were mini M&M's (covered with scrapbook paper and a thank you note) with a tiny toy on top.

Tiny pennant garland made with scrapbook paper and my very first hot glue gun...what took me so long to buy one of those?  It is my new favorite thing.

Tiny party hats also made from scrapbook paper and hot glue.

 

Checking out her new vanity...she and Sam both love that thing!

 

Chillin in the basement coloring our craft, eating lunch and watching Tinkerbell.

Fairy and monster shrinky dinks as a craft.

 

Presents!

 

 

Singing happy birthday with a tiny cupcake. 

 

Thanks to everyone who helped us celebrate Lena's special day. 

Happy birthday!

Summer Fun

Due to my blogging slackness...a pictorial rundown of some of our summer fun.

In Newcomerstown for the Relay for Life.

Fourth of July picnic in Delaware.

Slipin and slidin at Aunt Lori's house.

 My company's annual King's Island family day.  Thanks, Casto!

Home Improvement

I must preface by proclaiming that my husband is an amazing man.  A-MAZ-ING.  In so many ways.

His latest feat of amazement is his mad carpentry skills during his installation of our long-coveted and long-awaited hardwood floors.  He started two weeks ago with demo: pulling up carpet, terribly ugly white linoleum, padding, baseboards, laminate subfloor, about 13,000 staples and nails.  That alone was backbreaking work. 

Than came the big job.  Rich worked tirelessly Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday to get the downstairs done.  Thankfully my brother-in-law, Matt, came over to assist for awhile on Friday night and all day Sunday.  Having his extra set of hands and his mad carpentry skills was a huge help. 

A grueling 4 days later, the downstairs is finished and looks like something from a magazine.  Perfect.  Perfect.  Perfect.  Thanks Rich and Matt for being so awesome!

The floor is stranded carbonized bamboo with recycled rubber tire padding underneath, about as environmentally friendly as you can get.  And while I wouldn't consider us to be environmentalists, it makes us feel good that this floor is not only beautiful and durable, but sustainable and responsible. 

So without further ado, before and afters.

The house is put back together now, clean and beautiful, but I don't have photos of that yet.  We're waiting on the stair treads to come in before Rich can start on the steps and upstairs hallway.  So more photos to come. 

Never a dull moment at the Cole house.   

One Crazy Summer

My kids have been driving me to the absolute edge this summer.  The heat must bring out the crazy in them.  But they have also been undeniably adorable and sweet and smart. 

Sam's speech is nearly at age level and we're almost done with speech class!  Hooray!  He has begun storytelling, which I can't express how much I love.  Every morning we talk about his dreams in detail and they are about as mind blowing as my own usually are.  Space walks and aliens and tornadoes and gorillas in his room swinging from the shelves...his imagination is a fertile and wonderful place.  He also narrates everything that is happening or has happened, i.e. our conversation this morning about the weather. 


Standing at the backdoor watching the rain stream down the window...
Sam: "It's raining, Mommy."
Me: "Yes, I see."
Sam: "Thundering too."
Me: "Yes, I hear."
Sam: "That weather yady (lady...we're still working on L's) on TV said it will rain all day today!"
Me: "Oh, she did?  Well, it looks like she was right."
Sam: "Yeah, that yady is always right."

And Lena, that sweet little thing, has been a potty training champion.  I think we're close to finished if she could only master #2.  She has also been a mocking bird, repeating everything everyone says (with none of Sam's speech hangups, thank goodness) and has become very interested in her colors and ABC's.  In fact she's been incessantly singing her ABC's.  Dad took a video while we were in Newcomerstown last weekend and, while it's not her best attempt, it's about the cutest thing going.

So their sweetness outweighs their crazy...at least today.  

Confused, Praying, Writing and Urine-Soaked

Sorry for my absence.  I'm certain that the three of you who read my blog must have been pining away for a post from me...well wait no longer.

I've attempted several posts this month but have had a difficult time organizing my thoughts.  While a cluttered mind is nothing new for me (especially during the summer months when I tend to get restless and crazy), I've added a few new burdens to clutter it further. 

One being that my church band has been disbanded.   

The circumstances under which this disbandment occurred are awkward and disappointing and sudden and impossible for me to understand.  And the result is that I'm sad and confused and pissed and even more confused.  The church wants all of us band members to continue on under a new band leader, but none of us quite know what that means or how to feel or what to do.  So we're all praying and talking and trying to figure things out. 

I've seen my bandmates socially several times since everything went down...Jamie, Greg, Mike, JT, Josh.  We've talked and laughed and vented and taken in some awesome local music together, still no closer to answers but comforted just by being with each other.  I adore these people.  I miss these people.  I miss making music with these people and being a part of something with these people. 

God's plan is eluding me on this one.  This all occurred out of decisions and actions that were not God-like, so maybe this wasn't God's plan.  Maybe that's why it's been so hard for any of us to figure out.  I don't know.  I need to keep praying to see the light here because for now, I'm waiting it out in the dark.  And I don't like that. 

The second thing adding to the chaos in my head is my writing. 

Writing is as cathartic as it is oppressive.   But as I get older I'm finding out it is something I need.  So I'm making time for it whenever I can.  I have no aspirations of publication or greatness.  I'm simply trying, as a friend of mine recently suggested, to take pleasure in the fact that I'm playing with the words. 

The third mess in my mind has also been a mess on my floors and a burden on my laundry...potty training Lena. 

It's about our sixth attempt, but she's doing so well this time.  And Sam is a huge helper, cheering her on, turning on the bathroom light for her.  They are the best kids, honestly.   

So that's me this month: confused, praying, writing and urine-soaked.

Frustration and Fear

I've been writing a book for about a year or so.  Several books to be honest, but one in particular.

These great ideas for characters and scenes come spilling out of me with words which, when I read back over them in places, I barely remember writing.  Some of the passages are good.  Very good. 

Most of it's babbling nonsense, stream of consciousness, disconnected and shallow.  It lacks depth, heart, work and devotion.  I write of my dreams, my fantasies as if this novel were a journal of the me I began imagining in my youth.  Struggling with a real story, a path for these poor characters to take one way or another, I just stop writing for a time.  I shrug it off as a simple, unimportant flight of fancy of a mother and wife and secretary who so desperately wishes to share something meaningful, or at the very least provide an escape for others like me. 

But it's always there waiting.  The words on the pages anticipate that I can mold them into something of substance.  And I'm letting them down.  I'm letting myself down. 

The question begs, then, if this is something that I really want to do, why aren't I doing it?

Time.  Fear.  Education. 

When does a mother of two toddlers, a wife of a deserving husband, a secretary, a friend, a daughter, an aunt, a back-up singer, a Christian, a woman who is blessed with so many cherished relationships that are so worthy of her time and energy; when does that woman have time to devote to something as selfish and consuming as writing a book?  I already have precious little time, most of which is spent with people I love doing significant things I care deeply for.  I write when I can.  But merely fitting it in here and there is not enough.  It's suffering because of it.  But better my relationships suffer for my book? 

Rich suggested a smart compromise where I wouldn't have to take time from anyone but myself, but then fear comes in.  Were I to make the time, would I fare any better?  Maybe I'm just an essay writer.  Maybe that's as far as this gift goes.  I'm afraid of revealing that.  By not giving this book the air it needs to really catch fire, there's no possibility that I might fail miserably and be forced to live with my mediocrity.  By not trying, at least I still have hope.

Beyond my beloved English/literature classes in high school, I have no education to write.  While my college education in criminal justice/criminal law has served me well thus far (note a hint of sarcasm), I'm still at a loss to fulfill my dream shared my millions - to write a novel that doesn't suck.  It's no wonder I cannot figure out a plot, create a compelling storyline, organize the thoughts that bounce around in my head or control how they come out on paper.  I don't know how.  There are books on the subject, a couple of which I've read, but they pale in comparison to a good teacher.  The chance I had in college to cast aside my fear and actually grow (see My Life as a Penguin, if you are so inclined) was wasted.  And to take a class now, well, that would take more time, now wouldn't it?

Whining...I know I'm whining. 

I am blessed.  If I can't give air to but one of my passions when I am living out so many others, then that's fine.  I'm almost embarrassed to post this when there is so much suffering and hate and ugliness in so many people's lives.  Who am I to complain about one tiny aspect of an otherwise truly blessed life?  I am grateful for everything I am and have, for everyone I love and who loves me.  I genuinely am.         

But here's the thing.  I don't want to teach my kids to fear or apologize for their passions (unless they are really twisted, in which case we'll have to involve a therapist).  I want them to live as boldly, compassionately, faithfully and grandly as the greatest expanse of their minds and hearts allow.  Whether that be lives filled with monumental dreams or simple ones, I want them to believe that those dreams are attainable.  But at what expense do I teach that lesson?